


I Was a Little In Love

by Aspireeverything



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Crying, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, but not really, but with modern day language i guess, im sorry, it's sad, tigger warning for blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspireeverything/pseuds/Aspireeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Grantaire and Enjolras switch places with Marius and Eponine during the first attack on the barricade. </p><p>In other words, Grantaire dies in Enjolras's arms and it's super sad.</p><p>Trigger Warning: Blood</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was a Little In Love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not usually one to write angsty sort of things, but I chose to give this a shot. I would appreciate it greatly if any of you guys find any errors because, as always, all mistakes are mine and sometimes I just don't pick up on mistakes even after reading through it a million times!
> 
> Be sure to tip your writer in the form of kudos and comments!

Gunshots and smoke filled the air as the National Guard attacked the barricade once night fell. The only forewarning was the loud smack of boots against pavement in perfect harmony, the sound of guns being raised menacingly, prepared for the order to be called. It had caused the boys at the barricade to run to their positions, their own weapons in hand, slightly shaking and definitely terrified, but no one could openly admit that. If there was ever a time to back down, this wouldn’t be it.

They were there by their own accord. They would follow their leader until they end because they believed things might truly change for the better. The monarchy would fall and people would be led to a better tomorrow. They knew the consequences and the different possible outcomes. Death was one option. An option they all had time to come to terms with, but it didn’t make the situation any less alarming.

“French Revolution!” was the answer to a question the general had posed, inquiring who was beyond the barricade. Enjolras had said it in the same voice he used when he caught the attention of crowds, reeling them in with just his voice and hopeful words, but this had a hint of venom behind them. He was angry.

He was angry and ready for change even if it cost him his life.

The words had hung heavy in the air for a few moments that managed to seem like decades until the command rang through the air. “FIRE!”

Bullets pierced through the air, some mostly hitting the destroyed furniture on the makeshift barricade, a few ripping through the skin of some men aiming their own guns at the soldiers in blue. Some National Guard men fell as more shots rang through the air, blood already spilling on the pavement under the cover of the summer night.

A night these boys probably would have been spending differently if under different circumstances. They could have been sharing a laugh at the bar they haunted on a weekly basis, they could have been safe in their beds, they could have been in the arms of loved ones. They could have been home.

They could have been safe.

But, no. This is what they chose to do. They wanted to stand up for the people of Paris, to end the horrid reign of an unjust monarch. To create a new world fit to be lived in. But there was something about the bloodshed that made Enjolras’s stomach twist as he watched bodies fall lifelessly to the ground.

He was willing to risk his own life for his cause, sure, but he couldn’t understand why these men were so open to risking their lives. These men were his friends and he was eternally grateful that they were standing beside him.

He pulled the trigger of his rifle, aiming at the cluster of soldiers attempting to scale the barricade, a bullet shred through the blue jacket of one, blood spurting onto the material as he fell to the ground, the gun in his hand falling beside him. The revolutionary leader passed his gun to Feuilly behind him, beckoning for another one that was ready to be shot. His back entirely turned away from the soldiers quickly approaching.

“No!” he heard behind him followed by a muffled gunshot, but he didn’t bother to turn around until a loaded gun was shoved into his hands. He figured it was the cry of a soldier and he continued fighting back with all he had, pushing the cry to the back of his mind.

The soldiers were approaching faster, scaling the barricade with ease and almost completely climbing over until he heard, “Back! Back or I blow the barricade!”

Enjolras turned to the man next to him, the obvious owner of the threatening voice. Beside him stood Marius, a man he thought to be a bumbling idiot who only ever spoke of a beloved blonde girl he had fallen so madly in love with after one glance, but now. Now he stood with a defiant gleam in his eye, a barrel held up in one hand while the other clutched a torch dangerously close to it.

The blond held his breath, Marius couldn’t possibly be so stupid. He blows the barricade, he blows everything and everyone along with it. ‘ _He’s bluffing. Please tell me he’s bluffing_ ,’ he thought to himself, eyes wide as he stared at the gangly freckled man who now stood with ease and defiance. Enjolras would be proud if he wasn’t on the cusp of losing everything he worked for by an unfortunate explosion.

The general who had ordered for attack was now standing near the top of the barricade, gun lowered, staring Marius down as if he was trying to figure out of it was a bluff or not, such as Enjolras had. “And yourself with it,” the man spat out, his voice wavering slightly in fear that he was trying to conceal with no avail.

“And myself with it,” Marius repeated, moving the torch closer to the barrel. At this point Enjolras and the general knew he wasn’t bluffing, if they didn’t back off he was going to do it. Enjolras debated whether he should lunge forward and take away the torch and risk getting them both killed almost immediately or wait and see what the general would decide.

A4fter a few seconds, the general’s voice cut through the too still air yelling, “Back! Back!” And the soldiers followed, not taking their eyes off Marius who still held his hand steadily over the barrel. Enjolras let out a breath and moved to take away the torch from Marius who willingly gave it up as he watched them retreat. Enjolras could see he was shaking, but his main priority was to get the on fire torch as far away from that barrel and Marius as possible. He didn’t quite know if he should thank Marius for acting quickly and saving most of their lives or to punch him for almost taking all their lives with one stupid move.

He handed the torch off to Courferyac who gave him wide eyed look before walking away to presumably dowse it in water to put everyone at ease. The barricade erupted in voices, most directed to Marius, ranging from praise to anger to confusion. He picked up Combeferre’s voice easily as he shouted, “My life is not yours to risk Marius!” He sounded shaken and most of all, terrified.

The sound of fear was unfamiliar in his usually calm, stoic friend, it settled deep in the leader’s bones as he moved to console his obviously scared friend until he heard what seemed to be labored breaths behind him. He turned and saw a sight he didn’t think he would ever witness in his life.

Wedged between miscellaneous pieces of broken furniture sat a familiar mass of inky curls and pale skin, covered in a signature green waistcoat that now had a splotch of red slowing growing on his chest.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said softly, slowly approaching the cynic who was clutching the area of red, the same color staining his hands. He looked tired and paler than usual, his usually bright blue eyes now seeming to dull as seconds passed.

He looked vulnerable. None of the usual snark and cynicism that usually lined his face remained. None of the cloudiness of alcohol present in his eyes or tainting his breath.

Enjolras moved to take away the dark haired man’s hands from the wound, but he refused with any fight in him he had left, shaking his head slightly.

“You seeing it won’t do anything to change what’s happened.” He looked as if he was trying to smirk, but it was easily overtaken by the pain that was wreaking habit through his body. He was shaking, his breathing becoming harder.

Enjolras didn’t know what to do. What do you do in a situation where someone you may very well be in love with is dying in front of your very eyes?

And now he was here, watching the light slowly leave Grantaire’s eyes and there was truly nothing he could do about it.

“What have you done?” Enjolras asked, throwing his arm around the cynic’s bony shoulders and pulling him close. The least he could do was comfort him, they both knew what would be the outcome of this, the words didn’t need to be said. It was obvious and it was painful. Why make it worse by saying the words out loud?

“They soldier he was going t-to shoot you when you were t-turned around. I couldn’t let our f-fair leader be killed so I took the shot.” Grantaire said between shaky breaths and with broken words. He winced as he applied more pressure to the growing blood stain on his chest. His attempts were futile, he knew that, but he couldn’t sit around and do nothing. That’s why he took the shot.

He couldn’t sit and do nothing.

He couldn’t watch the man he loved be shot and killed before him. He did what he had to and didn’t regret it in the slightest. He knew he was worthless, a useless drunk, a no one who wouldn’t be remembered years after this event, but he did it for the man he had fallen so hard for. He needed to ensure that his precious Apollo lived one more day, maybe figure out this wouldn’t work. Figure out that these deaths were meaningless and innocent lives were being wasted. He knew Enjolras probably wouldn’t come to that conclusion, he was stubborn, he gave his all to his causes, he wouldn’t back down even if it would cost him his life and yet…

“Why would you do that?” Enjolras moved his free hand to cover Grantaire’s already red stained ones and held them there. He looked down at the face of the cynic, searching for an answer he might not get the chance to hear. Trying to understand why he would do something like this, to give his own life to a cause he never truly believed in.  


“T-told you, couldn’t just let you die.” He laughed breathily, letting his head rest on the red jacket covered shoulder of Enjolras. He always had found the jacket so silly, but it suited him. The color was fiery and passionate, just like the soul of the leader who wore it. It made him look like a beacon of hope and change, a god among mortals, a leader to end the years of oppression.

Enjolras only furrowed his eyebrows at that. He knew that there were people standing near them, watching the scene unfold from a safe distance away, trying their best to give them the space they needed. He could hear a small sniffle from a distance away, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact person as he glanced up at his friends. They all looked solemn and pitying as they glanced over to Grantaire who was only now shaking ever harder. Everyone cared for the cynic, he had become a part of their small family and now as Enjolras held the man he was in love with in his arms he realized not only was he losing a piece of himself, Les Amis was losing a part of family. A part of the family that never believed in his words, but allowed him to try to convince him. He didn’t believe and yet there he was, fighting alongside his family, fighting for a cause that never cared for.

“You shouldn’t have even been here, you didn’t believe in any of this,” Enjolras pulled the man in closer, tightening his grip on blood stained hands.  


He heard a small chuckle escape Grantaire’s lips through even shallower breaths. “I suppose,” he let out another chuckle. “I didn’t believe in your cause, but with all my heart I believed in you.” Enjolras pulled back a bit in shock at the words causing Grantaire to lift his head and look up at him, meeting his dim blue eyes to Enjolras’s wide, passionate brown ones. “I wanted you to show me you were right. I wanted you to prove me wrong. I don’t want you to fail. I never have.” Grantaire took one hand off his chest and shakily reached towards Enjolras’s face before he tentatively laid on soft had to his cheek and gave a small, sad smile. His hand slipped a bit, leaving a trail of red in its wake.

Enjorlas leaned into the touch, placing his own hand over the weak one and holding it tight against his face. Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he felt wet fall down his cheeks and onto the clasped hands. “I love you,” he whispered, not breaking the eye contact with the ink haired man whose slowly closing eyes widened a bit at the words.

“I know I’m dying, but I’d rather you not take pity on me and tell me things you think I want to hear.” The corners of his mouth were no longer tugged upwards in a smile that Enjolras immediately missed the second it disappeared, but now he face was serious and he looked hurt. He went to let his hand slide from Enjolras’s grip, but he only held tighter.

“No, _no_. I’m not just saying it to say it.  I’m not saying it because you’re dying or you took a bullet for me or that you saved my life. I’m saying it because I love you. _I love you so much_. It took me a long time to realize it and even longer to come to terms with it, but I love you. And I’m angry and upset and frustrated that these are the circumstances that I had to tell you under. I’m angry at myself for being a coward and not acting sooner. I’m sorry and I’m grateful and I’m in love and I don’t want to let you go.” Enjolras’s words ended with a sob that escaped from his lips, tears now fell harder and his head ached and his heart was breaking.

He was in pain, but nothing close to what he imagined Grantaire was feeling.

Grantaire removed his hand from under Enjolras’s grasp with a small amount of force and wiped away the tears from his face as gently as he could before running his hand through now gun powder laced locks of golden hair. A sad smile enveloped his face, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Monsieur Enjolras.” He said, shallow breaths escaping chapped lips. “I believe that I am so in love with you.”

His eyes slid closed, his head rolling to the side, his face nuzzling into Enjolras’s chest, and his hand falling down onto his lap. A final breath passed through his mouth, halting his life for eternity. It was deafeningly silent for what seemed to stretch for hours, days, months, _years_ even.

His face was blank. It was unsettling. There wasn’t the usual snark or sarcasm or wrinkles around his eyes as he laughed at something particularly idiotic or concentration or anything. There was nothing there anymore. Grantaire was nothing but a shell now, his life coming to a close earlier than it should have.

Enjolras stared at the face of the man that died in his arms, searching for some sign of life that would let him know that none of this nightmare was real. Grantaire would wake up and the wound would be gone and they’d be happy because they were in love.

But no.

This isn’t a fairytale. The golden boy doesn’t get to have his love.

Grantaire died protecting him and all he ever showed him was contempt and hatred because he was too much of a fucking coward to do otherwise. And this is where it left him.

A sound broke through the silence. It sounded like a wail, a broken sob and quick, short breaths. It took a few moments for Enjolras to register that it was him that made the noise and that it was him that was hyperventilating and sobbing and cradling Grantaire close to him. The realization pulled him hard back down to reality and everything just _hurt_.

He placed a soft kiss to already lifeless, cold lips and placed his forehead against pale, chilled skin and kept sobbing. It felt like every piece of him was torn out of his body and was being stomped on mercilessly on the ground. He wanted it to stop, to end, to just feel numb, but he didn’t deserve the luxury to just feel nothing at all.

He felt steady hands grasp his shoulders and Grantaire’s body slip from his arms as someone took him away, probably to place him where the rest of the victims from the first attack lay dead.

Enjolras reacted almost immediately, stumbling to his feet and reaching out until the owner of the steady hands stepped in front of him and stopped him. He didn’t have enough fight in him to protest so he let the strong arms hold him tight, making soothing noises into his ear and running a hand through his hair as he sobbed into the crook of the person’s neck and grabbed onto harshly onto the waistcoat.

“Shhh Enjolras. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you need to breathe okay? Just breathe with me, everything will be okay just breathe.” The voice said into his ear and Enjorlas could vaguely make out that it was Combeferre, but that only made him break into harder sobs and clutch the fabric harder.  

Enjolras felt a droplet of rain land onto his disheveled mop of hair then a few more planting themselves on his shoulders until rain began steadily falling from the sky, mixing with the redness of his face and the tears threatening to not stop pouring out of his eyes.

Combeferre only held him close as everyone moved into action to move weapons and gun powder inside, voices not rising higher than a whisper in fear of disturbing a truly delicate moment.

The rain only fell harder. Enjorlas didn’t know how long they stood there, he only knew that within the mix of rain he heard the familiar sound of ominously unified steps in the distance.

 


End file.
